


before i go

by hannahhsolo



Series: as long as i'm here [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Description of Suicidal Thoughts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahhsolo/pseuds/hannahhsolo
Summary: His life isn’t flashing before his eyes, he’d expected that. A pathetic collection of vignettes crammed into those final moments. It never came though, in the end. Maybe those pictures just weren’t worth repeating.Billy's scared and alone.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: as long as i'm here [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625593
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	before i go

**Author's Note:**

> okay so like the rest of the world i'm on a real billie eilish kick, and have been for like a year so here's my little collection of fics i've been writing over that time.  
> this first one gets pretty dark so please, if suicidal themes or ideas are a trigger for you, please DO NOT read this, your mental well-being is more important. billie's music and writing has gotten me through some shit, that's why i'm sharing this. but please please please do not read this if suicidal themes are even mildly dangerous for you.  
> i love you, and so does the world. talk to someone, please. people can be suprisingly nice, that's something i've found out lately.

His eyes are swimming, drowning, gasping. He struggles for breath, he’s struggled for breath for 18 years, what’s 10 minutes more?

His life isn’t flashing before his eyes, he’d expected that. A pathetic collection of vignettes crammed into those final moments. It never came though, in the end. Maybe those pictures just weren’t worth repeating. The Indiana air is cold, that’s what strikes him the most, he always thought it would end in sticky Californian heat, or even soft rippling waves. There is no ocean here, none for miles and miles, and he’s never been further than he is, in this cold night. Cold and tired and alone. He never did get out of here.

He tries to dream he’s flying. That he’s soaring above the putrid world forgetting about the tiny lives that play like old sitcom repeats far below. From this height he can see the marionettes of tiny lives in tiny homes and all the tiny worlds that they contain. His life isn’t even there, not anymore. That life was knocked from him in that very first backhand, his death had been chasing him from that moment, and it was only today that it caught up.

There was nothing,  _ no-one,  _ that could bring meaning to that feeble thing that sat inside him dormant and afraid for a long time. Nothing that even tried.

His legs swing back and forth, just over the edge, the rest of him had yet to follow. Those legs are getting heavier with every breath, toes taunting him to chase them.

He wonders what it looks like, painted on pavement, he’s almost sad he won’t get to see it. 

The fraying string that tethers him to the rooftop door of the town hall’s clock tower is snapping, moment by moment. The breeze plays it like a harp, whispering a name that is all too familiar, all too painful. 

_ Steve  _

_ Steve _

_ Steve _

It thrums loudly in his ears, and he squeezes his eyes shut, he wills it away. He doesn’t want it. Not here, he can’t feel guilty about this, thinking about that face would only make him feel. And he doesn’t want to feel _ anything.  _ Not anymore.

He’s a coward until the end, can’t bring himself to do the very thing that his life, along with everyone else's, is ultimately building up to.

There’s an argument in his head, it’s a screaming match and it hurts, his head hurt all the time. He can’t decide which side of the debate he lands on, everyone had a point. Which one was he going to prove? Who would win?

Sitting in his bedroom that evening he’d been sure, and he’s sure now. He knows how this night is going to end, but whether he wants it is uncertain. It never did matter what he wants. Never in his life. He didn't get decide the easy option. There wasn’t ever an easy option, on what to do, where to go, who to love. Life lived him, not the other way around.

He tests the waters, poking one foot a little further into the inky black of the night. Did he want to swim?

He wishes he knew how, how to swim instead of drown, maybe everything would be easier that way.

Sirens wail in the far off distance, they remind him of home. He just wants to go home.

_ i love you, thank you, sorry. _

_ b. _

There’s no way out but down, he made sure of that. The heavy fire door slammed behind him, no handle to get back in. Him and his inevitable are trapped. This is it for him, curtain falling on the shabby little bit of life that had been wasted on him.

The door creaks, swings, slams.

_ Billy… _

A wheezing voice, out of breath. He’d been running. He's too familiar with that softness, that  _ breathiness,  _ in those moments it had been joyous, it had been  _ memorable.  _ That’s what he had wanted to remember, not this. And now, this is what he would be left with. Pleading, desperate, clinging.

_ Please… _

He's not close, but he feels that voice on the back of his neck, knows when it rises and falls, he knows it will make his scalp prickle and hands sweat.

It does.

_ I’m sorry… _

_ Sorry can’t save me now, pretty boy. I’m not sorry, I love you, but I’m not sorry. I don’t deserve you, and you don’t deserve this and it’s just not fair anymore. _

“ _ Baby. _ ” He's  crying, that voice cracks and so does Billy’s heart. Sobs choke through the both of them, like they’re feeling the same pain across the two bodies.

“I just want to touch you, baby.” Barely louder than those wailing sirens in California, but there again thrumming in his ears. 

“I love you, Billy.”

And that felt like he’d died. It hurt him so much that he can’t hold in the guttural cry, hurt him worse that the cigarette burn to his cheek or the boot to his belly.

It hurt because it makes him want to  _ stay.  _ Makes him want to see the world, and not just as he stopped breathing.

“I  _ love  _ you. Please…” The words are barely audible but he feels them in his  _ bones.  _ Because he knows Steve, better than himself. And it’s true, he knows that, because he loves him too, and that’s why he has to go.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and it’s almost decided.

“You’re all that matters, baby.  _ Please.” _

“No.”

“ _ Yes.”  _

He’s sat with him now, four legs instead of two, dangling over the whole world. There’s a forehead pressed against his and tears dripping from his chin. He’s kissing the salt from his cheeks, he’s whispering sweet  _ everythings. _

“You’re all that matters.” If words were a kiss, those would be it.

They embrace, and he pulls him back from the edge. They land rough, it hurts them both, but it’s real and he  _ feels  _ it and he’s alive, and he has the whole world in between his arms.

“Steve…” A whisper into neck.

“Yeah, baby?” A whisper into hair.

“Take me home.”

**Author's Note:**

> i love you guys, stay safe.


End file.
